


Emotionally & Visually Impaired

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld
Genre: Develop Confidence, Had this idea at school, He's losing himself, I Tried, I'm not making him a good person, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Mom Pat, SAVE TOM, So yeah, Toms angsty, Tord is actually an asshole, Toxic Model Industry, YASS TOM STEP OUT OF YOUR SHELL, a tad, ansgty, body issues, enjoy that, woohoo, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Spiteful New York City teenager Tom is approached by Tord Olsen, popular (and hot) CEO, in charge of one of the most wealthiest technological companies. Tord offers the promise of vision to Tom, a hand shake and papers separating the one miracle. In return, the socially-awkward Thomas is launched into a world of interviews and modelling while figuring out the strangely aloof Tord.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tough Times will be regularly updated along with this fanfic, DO NOT worry! School has just caught up with me lmao.  
> I didn't want to use Tord's full name, out of respect. So I replaced it with Olsen.

Being blind is hard, obviously. Everyone you pass by pity’s you, and that’s not the start. He can feel the eyes burning holes into his head, like Toms pathetic. Going anywhere is hard, and he cannot tell you the many times he has bumped into a person or pole. He huffs, staring out into the bleak void on the promenade. It wasn’t true blind people saw all black, sometimes there were shadows or faint light. Like a phantom hand when you shut your eyes. His grip tightens on the walking cane, smashing into a solid object that gasped. Sending himself backwards, he falls into the arms of someone. 

’’Oh- apologies.’’ The figure stood Tom up-right, dusting himself by the faint shadows. Theres a pause in the air, ’’Hm, you‘re blind.’’

’’Thanks Captain Obvious.’’ Tom adjusted his shades, frowning. ’’And who are you?’’ 

’’Tord Olsen, CEO of Olsen Tech. I’d shake your hand but… ’’

’’My hand is already out.’’

’’That it is.’’ a light chortle emits from him, as Tom felt them collide. 

’’How do I know you‘re not lying?’’ 

’’Hm, I suppose you must take my word for it.’’ Tord smiles to himself, hands behind his back.

’’I’m not dumb.’’ 

’’I’m offering you and unique opprotuntity- for sight.’’ He grasps Toms hand with two, ’’You must trust me.’’

’’This is a con!’’ Tom jerks his arm away, snarling. ’’Not possible.’’

’’Voices down!’’ Tord hushed, whispering. ’’This is your chance, are you taking it or not?’’

Tom considers it for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. He‘s been conned once, and never trusted again unless he knew them. This is a man who he bumped into, dipped him and now claims hes a CEO. Is it worth it? 

To see the world again, yeah. 

’’You‘ve got a deal.’’

Tord grins, leading Tom by the hand. ’’We‘re going to my suite, there I have the technology.’’

Apprehension strikes Tom’s chest, tensing. 

Gasps followed them, voices 

_ ’’Is that Tord-?’’ _

_ ’’What a dream boat!’’  _

An audible scoff comes from Tord, who quickened his pace. ’’This is what I get for scouting.’’ 

Tom supposes he has confirmation. He is lead into a car, patting his way through the proximity. The door shuts beside him, from the sound of it Tord entered beside him. 

 

‘’I haven’t heard you release information of sight-technology yet.’’ Tom adds, propping his chin on his hand. ‘’Is it under wraps?’’ 

 

‘’I was waiting for a candidate. You seemed like the spunkiest.’’ Tord shrugs, legs crossed. ‘’I’m not giving this to some lame-o-run-of-the-mill.’’ his voice dropped a tone, almost bored. ‘’You’re not paying for it, but I do have one condition.’’ 

 

‘’And what is that?’’

 

‘’You will be my companies model, the front cover of magazines, and such. The contract delves deeper. I’ll bring in an official to prove it is legit, and you’re not signing off on some crazy drug contract.’’

 

‘‘Me, a model?’’ Tom replies, scoffing. ‘’Don’t want to sound like I have low-self esteem, but I haven’t seen myself for a long time.’’ The car bumps underneath him, rocking them both.

 

‘’You are stunningly handsome.’’ Tord deadpans, ‘’it’s a shame you cannot see it.’’ 

 

‘’I think people would have told me that, Sir.’’ Tom rolls his nonexistant eyes, 

 

‘’Society discriminates against complimenting a man, they’ve not paid proper dues.’’ Tord replies. ‘’My government agent is at my house now, you can sign right when you get there.’’

Tom reels back, the car hits a pot-hole. Everything is coming so fast, he wasn’t sure he could take it. If this is true, he’d be able to see within a few minutes. His heart races, palms clammy. The car comes to a halt, Tord steps out first before opening Tom’s door, assisting him. 

‘’Thanks.’’ he mumbles, reaching for his walking cane before Tord rested a hand on his arm.

‘’You won’t need that once we’re done here.’’ 

‘’You say that ominously.’’

‘’Peraphs.’’ Tord cackles, leading Tom through sliding doors. They go into an elavator, from the feel of it. Each time they pass a floor, a ding sets. That’s how Tom knew they were on a tleast the highest floor, he’d lost count. Stepping out with Tord, he’s guided into a room through a door. Tord sits him down at a table, the cushioned seat underneath him. Letting go, two voices converse. 

 

‘’Paul, prepare the forms. Patryck, serve the poor man a beverage.’’ 

‘’Yes sir.’’

‘’Yes sir.’’ They oblige, foots stepping into the distance. The refrigerator opens, liquid falling inside a cup. Ever since Tom lost his vision, his hearing had been sharpened immensely. Usually he’d notice the small things others didn’t, like hushed whispers or faint footsteps. Papers rustle in front of him, tapped on the table then laid out. A glass clicks on the table in front of him, and a seat is pulled out from across the surface. 

‘’I’m Paul.’’ The man introduces himself, ‘’We are about to put the device onto you, so we may prove ourselves.’’ 

‘’O-okay.’’ Tom nods, his shades being taken off, replaced by a much comfortable pair of glasses, fiddling behind his ear. It took a few uncomfortable minutes, sitting still and feeling the anticipation.

‘’Done.’’ Paul confirms, brushing his hands off. 

Tom blinks, his vision focusing in and out. Across from him, a man dressed in a collar shirt and black tie, two strands of hair popping up. Paul, who stood beside him, scruffy and the other dude, beside Tord. Sucking in air, his lips curve into a fish-hook beam, glancing down at his hands. His breath caught in his throat, words coming out like ice-dispenser. 

‘’No way, no way.’’ His head darts away, inspecting the glass in front of him. Water, vivid lights everywhere. It stung like a bitch, but what did he care? ‘’My sight- I can’t… ‘’ 

‘’Shall we give you two a moment?’’ Patryck questions, hands behind his back as well. 

‘’No no, give me the pen.’’ Tom waves his hand frantically, eyes skimming over his text. Before cancer, he knew how to read, thankfully. ‘ _ By signing this contract you are accepting the terms and coditions. You will be binded legally, as a model and paid appropriately _ .’ Scribbling down his signature, Tord keeps a straight face. Beside him, Paul and Patryck as well. Any other human being would be laughing in joy with him, crying in joy with him. These two are stone-rocks. Pushing his chair back, he took in all he can. A grand view- the window, showcasing the city lights and the large house. 

 

‘’There.’’ Tord stands up, ‘’you start tomorrow. You’ll be staying here, though. We can’t have you walking around with new tech right now. Call your care-taker.’’ He gestures to the home phone on the wall. ‘’Make some cover, I suppose. They’ll know once the magazine is released.’’ 

The man with normal eyebrows speaks up, ‘’Boss, you’ve interviews in a hour. The reporters will have several questions.’’

‘’Right. Very well, we should arrive early.’’ He turns his back, head cranking to look at Tom. ‘’Paul will tend to you, help yourself. I’ll be back in half an hour.’’ Before Tom can reply, Tord is out of the room. 

 

‘’It’s surreal, yeah?’’ Paul takes Tords seat across from Tom, neatly organizing the contract into a folder. ‘’Seeing again.’’ 

 

‘’It’s amazing.’’ Tom exhales, laughing to himself. ‘’You look handsome.’’ 

 

Paul nods, unphased. ‘’According to Boss and you, at least. He always says how society is so incompetent enough to even acknowledge a mans beauty. Very liberal. Must’ve picked you for a reason.’’

 

‘’I spat back at him. Said I’m  _ ‘spunky, and good-looking _ .’ Frankly, I think any blind person would be suspicious of a man offering what’s thought to be impossible.’’

 

‘’Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’’ Paul shrugs to himself, Tom taking the glass to sip. ‘’he’s a bit of a control freak. You learn to adapt.’’

 

‘’Oh…’’ Tom stares into his glass, stagnant juice reflecting him. ‘’He’s not bad is he?’’

 

‘’I’m not denying he’s an asshole. Standoffish and aloof when not in public. Patryck and I get away with a lot more than your typical citizen while with him. Probably because we’ve been with him for years.’’ 

Tom looks up, the digital eyes blinking. ‘’Wait, I don’t know the first thing about modeling.’’ he looks Paul in the eye, panicked. ‘’Isn’t there angling and posing?’’

‘’The photographers will tell you everything.’’ Paul replies, checking his watch. ‘’If you’re that nervous to some studying. In fact, look in a mirror. Your care-taker kept great care of you.’’

Yeah, Edd is cool like that. 

‘’I almost forgot.’’ Tom moves out, glancing around, off kilter. ‘’This is unbalancing, wheres the washroom?’’

‘’No need, we’ve a full body mirror right over here.’’ He points. Mounted on the wall is a mirror, which Tom steps in front of. Cropped up hair, faux-hawk reminiscent. Thank god Matt knew how to style. His ginger friend also chose his wardrobe, a blue over shirt with relaxed washed out jeans. Matt always commented about his oval face and jaw line.

‘’For once I’m glad Matt is such a fashionista.’’ Tom mumbles, the realization hits him. ‘’How will I explain to friends who have known I’m blind for years that I’m suddenly a highly paid model WITH sight?’’

‘’You don’t.’’ Paul insists, ‘’The magazine comes out and you call them. It’ll be accepted.’’ 

‘’Ok… ‘’ Tom frowns, this is a big change. Maybe a good one. How will he adapt in public? People will know its him and he will be  _ swarmed.  _ His anxiety doesn’t allow that. Tom would be the only one with it, therefore noticeable. The last thing he wants is attention. He hated it when people gave pitiful stares, and he’ll hate it when they give googly-eyes. ‘’How do I go out in public?’’ 

‘’You just do. That’s why you and Boss have us.’’ 

‘’All the attention… ‘’

‘’The price to pay.’’ Paul shoots back, ‘’get used to it. We don’t coddle here. Famous interview shows will want to talk to you too.’’ 

 

And how the hell is he supposed to handle that?

 

‘’Boss will be on the TV in a moment. let’s watch.’’ Paul reaches for the remote on the couch as he walks towards it, sitting on it. Both avert their heads to the TV. 

 

‘’ _ Here, we have famous Mr. Tord Olsen telling us about his newest invention _ !’’

 

‘’Hello, Stephano. It’s great to be here.’’ Tord smiles, eyes crunching earnestly. No evidence of nervousness came through. No toe tapping, no nervous chuckles or stutters. 

 

‘’So, I’ve heard you have made the impossible possible!’’ Stephano leans in subtly, ‘’It aids blind people, yes?’’

 

‘’Indeed, I actually have the perfect candidate waiting to be released.’’ Tord nods his head along.

 

‘’What inspired you to create this magnificent technology?’’

 

‘’Getting personal now are we, Stephano?’’ Tord gave a hearty laugh, ‘’Simple, really. There were kids around my school who suffered blindness. It gave me the idea.’’

 

‘’Mr. Olsen, is there any chance your candidates happen to be one of those people?’’

 

Tom holds his breath, while Paul sits there, unphased. Like usual.

 

‘’You’ll find out.’’ Tord replies, ‘’That’s under wraps.’’

 

‘’Very mysterious.’’ Stephano nods to himself, ‘’You’re an enigmatic yet charismatic man.’’ 

 

‘’Oh, I don’t know about that.’’ Tord bats his eyelashes, ‘You’re quite the man as well.’’ 

 

Tom exhales, then stops. He’s blind, he’s the candidate. Tord wouldn’t hide that information unless he wouldn’t want Tom to know-

Oh shit, Tord invented the technology specially  _ for  _ him. 

Maybe not ‘specially’, he did say he was inspired. Tom was the only blind kid in school. How did he not recognize Tord’s voice? 

 

‘’Well, looks like he did find his perfect candidate.’’ Paul jokes, ‘’I knew all along. He tells us everything.’’  the TV interrupts.

 

‘’-Does cost a lot.’’ Tord speaks, ‘’There are two right now.’’

 

‘’Now, Tord. This poses a few problems. Stephano begins, ‘’There are many  financially unstable people. How will they have access to such expensive items, and if you lower the price how will you have the money to reproduce them?’’

 

‘’That's the thing, Stephano. Until I figure out a way, they’re exclusive. It pains me to be unable to hand these out, but our resources will be drained.’’ Tords face compares to that of a child told his parents are divorcing. ‘’It saddens me I can’t do more.’’ 

Stephano’s face contorts, eyes widening.

‘’You have a point. There will be protests, though. Keeping such items to limited people.’’ 

‘’They will be handled. Our company is currently donating to charities all around. LGBT+ , Cancer research, Homeless shelters. We’re contributing as much as we can.’’ 

 

Paul snickers, covering his mouth. Toms head snaps to him. 

‘’What’s so funny?’’

‘’Inside joke. You really need to know Boss to understand.’’ 

Well, whatever. 

 

‘’That’s all the time we have for today!’’ Stephano closes them off, Tord waving. ‘’Any last words, Mr. Olsen?’’

 

Letting go of his american accent, Tord shouts. ‘’The beginning of all things are small!’’

The TV fades. 

Paul is now visibly holding back laughter, pursing his lips. Composing himself with a deep breath, he exhales. ‘’Boss will be back soon.’’


	2. Fear is useless and Temporary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom participates in his first photoshoot, and all does not go too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, sorry!

‘’Oh good god that was awful!’’ Tord opens the front door, pulling his tie loose. The suit is suffocating him, and frankly he’s over heating. His gaze follows to Tom, who he forgot was here. ‘’Shit…’’ He mutters, so unprofessional. ‘’You saw the interview?’’ 

‘’Yeah- apparently you designed these for me?’’ Tom points to the glasses on his face, ‘’That’s oddly nice.’’

‘’How self-absorbed are you? You inspired me to create it. I was a kid with too much free time.’’ Tord shrugs off his blazer, hanging it in the closet. ‘’I’ve created many things I never released to the public. That reminds me, don’t go yapping about that, ok? People will be pissed more.’’ 

‘’Boss,’’ Patryck starts, ‘’You look frazzled. Get some rest.’’ 

‘’And get up at 5am.’’ He runs hands over his face, ‘’can’t a man sleep in? Tom. You’ll be up at 7am sharp. We leave at 8am. Between those times you need to shower, make up artists will be at your modelling location. Patryck, can you lead him to the guest room?’’  
Patryck makes a noise of acknowledgement, traversing throughout the large house. He opens the door to Toms bedroom, which is unnecessarily large. 

‘’Who needs this much space for a bedroom?’’ Tom looks around, a neatly organized desk in the right corner, a king-sized bed in the center. A shelf full of books surrounding the wall perimeter.

‘’No one knows.’’ Patryck replies, ‘’I’ll need to take your measurements and send them in. Shirt off, please.’’ 

‘’That's abrupt… ‘’ Tom slides his shirt off, abashed. His body is average, not muscly or fat. He certainly isn’t toned, nor had a six pack. Working out lost meaning long ago. He didn’t eat a lot either, so he’s skinny. Patryck said nothing to judge him. He simply held tape measure in his hand as he rolled it out, wrapping it around the thinnest part of his waist. He mumbles numbers under his breath, moving down to a much lower area, where Toms hips are wider. 

‘’Sorry if I’m crossing boundaries.’’ Patryck speaks, moving up to the width of Toms shoulders.

‘’You’re taking measurments, what’s the harm?’’

‘’Some may be insecure.’’ Patryck replies absentmindedly, he finishes the last few. ‘’Get some much needed rest, tomorrow will be insane.’’ Patrycks pats Tom’s shoulder, turning on the balls of his feet. He left Tom on his own, who backs up, letting himself tumble backwards. Everything is flying by, it’s almost impossible to comprehend. From what Edd told him, Tord was never really at school, and when he was he never spoke. He always caught fiddling with whatever project he’s on. He achieved high grades with no issue. Unlike Tom, who struggled. He had been put in a special education class where they provided learning. Not just blind people. Mute people, autistic and many others. He wasn’t sure how the class operated. No one bullied him, though. They used to, before he became blind. Who’d beat up a disabled kid? Instead, no one else spoke to him. It was himself, Edd, Matt and teachers. Clicking on his phone, he sets an alarm for 7am. Apparently the glasses are removable, because Tom easily took them off.  
Might as well relax.

A sharp alarm jolts Tom awake, sitting straight up. For a hot second, he almost screeched, staring into the void again. He took the time to remind himself of his situation and where he placed his high-tech glasses. Feeling around on the table, his hand grasps the familiar object. He slides them onto his head, blinking as they focussed. He lets out a relieved sigh, no longer tired. His eyes move to his blue sweatshirt on the bed, which he tugs on. They’d doll him up at the location. He exits the room, recalling the navigation from last night. 

At the kitchen counter, Tord who presumably drinks coffee, legs crossed. On the counter a open book. Paul and Patryck are seated on the couch, writing on papers. The whole environment threw Tom off, like a kid having a sleep over at their friends house they were never at. He felt like an intruder. Tord catches Tom’s eyes. The man, dressed up in a collar shirt and loose tie bookmarks his page.

 

‘’Coffees on the counter, the kettles hot.’’ Tord tilts his head. ‘’Eat something. If you don’t you’ll regret it later. Cereals in the top right cabinet.’’ Tom follows instructions, pausing before opening the correct one. He opens the fridge, carrying out the carton. He hears Pauls pen tapping against the paper, and Tords faint finger tapping. It’s a quiet environment, and he admired that. Often in public his sensory would be overwhelmed, eliciting a break down in the worst of times. To combat this, he always had music on him. It tuned out the rest, leaving him with one sound. He loves his bass. He pours the cereal, moving onto the coffee. Thankfully, cups were simple to find. 

 

‘’What are you reading?’’ Tom risks a glance at Tords book. 

 

‘’A collection of Edgar Allen Poe. Right now, The Tell-Tale Heart.’’ He answers, eyes methodologically passing over each word. ‘’It tells the story of a man convincing the reader he didn’t commit homicide.’’ 

 

‘’That’s… dark.’’ 

 

‘’Exactly my taste.’’ Tord says as he lifts the mug to his lip, ‘’Bitter and dark. Gore doesn’t phase me.’’  Tord blinked arrhythmically.

Tom dug around for the sugar, before Tord points at the counter. Shrinking down, Tom reaches for the sugar. He adds two tablespoons, and Tord gags. 

‘’How can you have such sweet coffee?’’

‘’I think you’re the odd one here.’’ Tom rolls his eyes. ‘’I bet you don’t eat cake or candy.’’

‘’Well, I like black liquorice.’’ 

‘’Black liquorice doesn’t count, it’s an outcast.’’ Tom scoffs, scratching his nose. 

 

‘’Boss, it’s 7:40am, we should leave.’’ Patryck speaks up, Paul organizes his papers once again. He seems to like everything tidy and in place. 

 

‘’Right.’’ Tord finishes his coffee, closing his book. Tom glugs down the rest with ease (thanks to vodka practice) and places it on the counter. All three of them stare, awed yet judgingly. 

‘’What?’’

‘’Nothing.’’ Patryck shakes his head, helping Paul sort papers into the bag. He was swatted away instead, joining Tord. 

You’ve got this. Tom psychs himself up. You’re confident, you’re  _ gorgeous  _ and you’re wrecking the floor. Fear is temporary and useless, glory is forever! His fist clenches, a hand brushing behind him. He is nudged out the door by an unknown hand. They take the elavator once again, Paul and Patryck standing in front of them. After what felt like an hour, they step out. Patryck slows to flank, leaving no openings. 

‘’Conduct yourself mannerly, Tom. Appeal to the masses.’’ Tord whispers, ‘’And if you get cold feet, think about how pathetic the audience is, buying into all the crap.’’ He snorts to himself, the words sending an off-vibe. ‘’You’re in control, fuck everyone else.’’ 

What a great mindset! 

Even Tom had trouble figuring if that thought was sarcastic or not. Regardless, he’d take Tord’s advice. They move into the car, Patryck opening the door for each of them. Tord slides in first, joined by Tom. The door shuts, Paul is at the driver's seat whilst Patryck buckles himself in.

‘’Tom, you’re shoot is first up. I told everyone before hand to be understanding. They’ll tell you what to do, just listen. After the shoot is done, that takes us to 10am. We’re tailoring you a suit for the 1pm interview on Allen. While that happens, I’m going over body language and communication with you.’’

‘’Whoa, slow down.’’ Tom waves downwards, ‘’Is this your everyday schedule?’’ 

‘’Giving quotes, doing paperwork and signing contracts. I lock myself in my study replying to emails and such.’’ Tord tugs down his right sleeve, sitting back. ‘’The magazine will ask you very personal questions. Be prepared.’’ 

Ugh, was he going to need to confess losing his eyes to cancer, and somehow recovering? More attention.

‘’We don’t baby around here.’’ Tord continues, ‘’Learn to adapt, survival of the fittest. Fear is temporary, regret is forever.’’

‘’You make the world sound vicious.’’

‘’It is.’’ Tord deadpans, ‘’you’ve to be naive to not think so.’’

Yeah, they can agree on one thing. Although, Tom isn’t that pessimistic. He believes there is some good. They pull into a parking garage. The inside is unreasonably well designed, marble floor tiles and carefully planned walls. All of the rooms are very well lit, and there are various make up studios surrounding them. 

‘’What are you waiting for?’’ Asks Tord, who is already out of the car with Paul and Patryck. Tom inhales for a few seconds, exhaling after seven. Stepping out of the car, he is faced with over twenty people. He forces himself to walk, shoulders back. Each step he plans authoritatively, a group of five rushing over to him. 

‘’Put these on, please.’’ Tom is handed a black vest, navy blue collar shirt with a circular checker on the right shoulder. Being shoved into a concealed dressing room, the door is shut behind him. He stares at the clothes, biting his lower lip. They must know what’s best. He comes out in the outfit, and everyone gasps. 

‘’Gorgeous, just as I thought.’’

‘’The blue really contrasts the green on your glasses and your brown hair.’’ A man speaks, come over here.’ 

‘’You’ve got a good jawline.’’ A woman spoke.

‘’Defined features.’’ Another piped up, this time a man. 

‘’Your bodies average, which is empathetically appealing to the masses.’’

‘’Bit scruffy, we can fix that up.’’

‘’Who does your hair anyways, it looks ravishing!’’ 

He’s coaxed into a chair, sitting stiff up. The male stands in front of him, crouching down. ‘’I’m Charles. Don’t look so up-tight, this is a safe environment.’’ 

All of the voices at once defeated him, picking up on every squeak or take of breath. Hands digging into his front pocket, he yanks out a pair of earbuds, his phone in the back. He plugs the cord in, playing any available song. The earbuds go into his ears, and his shoulders untense. The make-up artists are giving him weird looks, but fuck them. As Tord would say. Moonlight Sonata plays, contrasting the busy environment with a slower paced song.

Beauty blenders pat his face, wet liquids that looked to be brightly nude are rubbed onto his nose, cheekbones and chin. He’d lost track. Brushes dusts over, making Tom cringe. They were all over his face, pasting god knows. He doesn’t use makeup- and are they putting on lipstick?

 His eyes open as soon as he doesn’t feel brushes anymore, the sensation ticklish. They worked quickly, his face already half done. His lips somehow looked normal, like there is no lipstick. His entire face natural, nothing too obvious. Once again, the assault continued. They carried the foundation down to his neck, treading on thin ice. He hates people touching his neck, the anxiety of such fragile skin and artery underneath. He gulps. After an hour, he’s fully touched up. There’s no remnant of old Tom or flaws, just perfection. It unsettles him, at the most. He’s too… handsome. 

Ew. what an industry. 

‘’Earbuds out!’’ They pluck the source of relaxation from his ears, launching into reality. Sveral voices at once, flashing lights and prodding to stand up on the stage, where lights also direct at him. 

‘’Stop, stop give me some room.’’ Tom demands, though they don’t seem to listen. They’re too caught up in focussing lights and touching up. He purses his lips, screwing his eyes shut. Patryck steps in, pushing everyone away. 

‘’Do you have no concept of personal space or respect? He’s your model, treat him kindly.’’ Patryck scolds, ‘’imagine your senses being overwhelmed, noise everywhere and lights flashing.’’ 

Silence drops, and everyone nods. Only one is left with Tom, and that’s Charles who ducks his head in apology. Patryck turns to Tom. 

‘’They’re like that sometimes. You’re the authority here though, launch it onto them.’’ Patryck then leaves him, returning to Tord and Paul. 

‘’Tom, can you look slightly down, right arm in your pocket and left around your neck?’’ 

‘’Yeah…’’ He does as instructed, Charles lightly adjusting here and there. 

‘’Shift your weight onto your right.’’

Tom does so.

‘’Perfect! Hold that pose.’’ Charles runs out of shot, giving thumbs up. A few are snapped here and there, each different take with a new pose. This was becoming easy, and may a tad fun. With one person instructing him each time with positive affirmation, it really assured Tom. They took 20 all together, and would now debate the top two shots in a meeting. He is met up with the 3. 

‘’Wasn’t so hard, now was it?’’ Patryck gave a light smile, ‘’All you needed was some guidance and authority. Take some notes, Boss.’’ Patryck jokes, and Tord seems to receive it in well manner.

‘’Gr-great job.’’ Tord stumbles over his words. Compliments are noticeably not his forte. 

‘’Anywho, it’s 10am. We need to get Tom’s suit tailored.’’ Paul reminds, and they all nod.


	3. Cold Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is tailored, and gets cold feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil short. Oops.

‘’Why do I need a suit?’’ Tom whines, being shoved into the tailors office. ‘’Can’t I wear my modelling clothes?’’ 

 

‘’You  _ will  _ be wearing your model clothes. The suit is for special occasions. Every man should have one.’’ Tord brushes him off, Patryck and Paul trailing behind. 

 

‘’A client, Mr. Olsen?’’ A tall woman speaks, ‘’Oh! He’s the muse.’’ She circles Tom, looks to Tord. ‘’How about a checker tie?’’ 

 

‘’Do your magic.’’ He replies nonchalantly. Paul and Patryck have already found the couch, legs crossed. 

 

‘’Come over here.’’ She gestures Tom into the closed off room, arm out with her palm at the stool. Measuring tape is wrapped around her neck as she inspects his body. ‘’What’s your name?’’ She asks. ‘’I’m Laurel.’’ 

 

‘’Tom.’’ He replies as Laurel steps back. Her process is quick, little snips of the measuring tape here and there. ‘’What kind of suit are you thinking of?’’

 

‘’Oh, just a straight black suit. Checkers. You’ve got a very..’’ She waves her hands around, biting her lips. ‘’Suave vibe? I can’t put my finger on it.’’ 

 

‘’Is the word you’re looking for asshole?’’

 

She bursts out into laughter, slapping her thigh. ‘’People these days are attracted to ‘bad boys’. You’re not one, are you?’’ She squints, moving behind Tom to measure further. 

‘’Totally.’’ He rolls his eyes, ‘’No, do I look like a bad boy? I am the furthest from that. Sarcastic, well behaved boy.’’ 

‘’The media will portray you as one.’’ Laurel hums, crouching down. ‘’The industry is toxic.’’ She pauses, a short inhale of breath. ‘’Must be good to have sight.’’

‘’No, it’s not.’’ Tom raises an eyebrow, ‘’definitely not.’’

‘’You’re indeed the sarcastic one.’’ She replies, standing up. ‘’One in a million chance, and you nabbed it.’’ 

She was right- he had the tiniest chance of meeting Tord out on that promenade. It could have been another person. Maybe a far more charismatic one, or endearing. Tord bases his decision on looks, not only that, he knew Tom in high school. 

‘’I did.’’ Tom echoes back, ‘’even got dipped tango style by him.’’ 

‘’Any girl would die to be in your place.’’ She jokes, ‘’everyone thinks Mr. Olsen is a dreamboat. I don’t know him personally, but he always has a debonair smile and composed posture.’’

Tom snickers to himself, and says no more. Yeah, that’s true. Tord always keeps himself in check.

‘’When will the suit be ready?’’

‘’One day max. Mr.Olsen prioritizes orders.’’ She trails in front of Tom, dusting off her hands. ‘’You’re finished. It was nice knowing you, Tom.’’ She holds out her hand, to which Tom hesitates. He accepts, connecting hands. 

‘’Likewise.’’ 

Both exit the room where Tord, Paul and Patryck wait. 

 

‘’Good, you’re finished.’’ Tord claps his hands together, glancing to his watch. ‘’We’ve got one and a half hours to prepare.’’ He turns to the door, all stalking behind. Inside the car, Tord crosses his legs. 

‘’You said something about teaching body language and communication?’’ Tom begins. 

‘’Indeed I did. I’ll give you a short run down, we’ll go into depth at my house.’’ Taking a breath, as if he’d go on for a long spiel, he starts. ‘’Everything is subjective, I’m crossing my legs now to be comfortable, not defensive as it would typically suggest.’’ He uses his hands as he speaks, making the appropriate gestures. ‘’Don’t cross your arms or legs on the show. Shoulders back, and this is the most important,’’ He raises a singular finger, ‘’Mirror the host’s body language. Humans naturally lean in and copy each other when indulged in a good conversation.’’

‘’That’s a lot to memorize.’’ Tom bends his head down slightly.

‘’None of that, you just signalled uncertainty. You don’t need to feel confident, just look confident.’’

Tom adjusts his head, keeping it straight now. Damn, he needs to be really aware at all times of what he’s doing. ‘’Does that mean you’re just some sort of tool who is soft on the inside?’’

Tord lurches forward, laughter erupting. ‘’Everything is natural, this is who I am. Assertive.’’

‘’In school Edd always told me you’re quiet.’’ Tom refutes, raising an eyebrow, head to the left. He’d be damned he believed Tord over Edds word.

‘’Not anymore.’’ Tord wipes a tear of laughter from his eye, ‘’you’ve got to man up once you’re out of high-school. No one takes care of you.’’ 

Funny, that’s the opposite for Tom. Everyone gathered around him, directing and helping with everything. In the end, he didn’t help himself, everyone gave him what they thought he needed. Tord, sight. Well, didn’t everyone need sight? To see all the wonders of the world, or what your partner may look like? Tom never really had independence. His eyes are down to the right, focussing on his shoes. 

‘’Hey, hey. Eyes up here.’’ Tord snaps Tom out of his thoughts, snapping. ‘’Now’s not the time for emotional contemplation. Zoning out doesn’t help.’’

Wow, what a prick. 

‘’Neither does being fake.’’ Tom shoots back. 

‘’If you don’t want attention in public, just open your mouth. That’s sure to repel everyone.’’ Tord rebuttals, crossing his arms. Paul coughs in the front, likely hiding laughter. No noise comes from Patryck, though. 

‘’Stop quarelling like a couple.’’ Patryck finally adds in, poking his head back. 

‘’Say that again, I dare you Patryck.’’ Tord growls, leaning his head forward to meet his foe.

No other peep came from the front, and Pauls incessant coughing has stopped.

Patryck can stop an argument, that’s for sure. The rest of the car ride is silent, Tord is scrawling notes in on his pad, writing incomprehensible. 

~

All enter the house, equally exhausted. Paul and Patryck take their seat on the couch, and Tord gestures Tom to trail behind him. Into another room, presumably his office. The desk is clear and organized, confidential documents in orange folders and shelves full of books. On his desk, a standing-up frame directed away from them. It’d be nice to know what's there. Tord sits behind his desk, cupping his hands.

‘’Continuing my lecture,’’ He starts, ‘’I want you to look either between the hosts’ eyes or sides of their face. Those are named the ‘official look’ and ‘assessment look’. It maintains a professional atmosphere. Use what I’m telling you and demonstrate.’’

‘’Ok.’’ Tom directs his eyes to the middle of Tords nose, and the other reciprocates. However, the contact is held for too long.

‘’Mistake number one.’’ Tord begins, ‘’You prolonged eye contact. That promotes aggression, and may make the other fearful. You want a good rapport. Ever so often, glance away.’’

‘’Do I need to hold your eyes forever-’’

‘’Yes. You’re making it awkward for yourself.’’ Tord replies, ‘’when you smile, crinkle your eyes. One without crinkles is fake.’’ 

‘’Like… this?’’ Tom copies Tord, who has the purest grin. His ended up half-assed, one corner lifted higher than the other. 

‘’Think of something that makes you happy.’’ 

Ok… what makes Tom happy? He pictures pouring gasoline onto an evergreen tree, adorned with a plethora of ornaments. Yeah, burning Christmas is fun, but what else? Being alone, maybe with a good book. Would it be in braille? could say ‘life’ makes him happy, but he’d be lying. Tom hasn’t thought about what he enjoys, it’s always been too hectic to consider it. 

‘’I don’t know.’’ he spits out, unknowingly.

‘’I’m not your psychiatrist, fake it til’ you make it.’’

Fake it until you make it. Sounds like a good motto, he supposes. Pulling up his best grin, Tord nods.

‘’Leaning in a little helps involve interest, head shakes here and there.’’

Tom copies, nodding along.

‘’And you’re good. We’ve only a few minutes. It’s 12:30.’’

Tom could feel the anxiety taking over, gulping. He never liked social interactions, but now. Now he’d be all everyone can talk about, and if he fucks up…

‘’Good god, go cry to Patryck, Tom. Emotions aren’t my thing.’’

‘’Yeah, you’re some callous flake.’’ Tom stands up, pushing his chair out. 

 

Tord sighs as Tom exits. 

 

‘’Hey, Patryck?’’ Tom calls out, navigating through the labyrinth. ‘’I need some hel-’’ He pauses, taking in the sight to ‘behold’. Patryck and Paul were holding each other, faces close. They bolt apart, Paul clearing his throat and Patryck dusting himself off. 

 

‘’Don’t tell him.’’ Paul purses his lips, ‘’he’ll have our heads.’’

 

‘’He’s an ass anyways, you two continue your shenanigans.’’

 

‘’Wait, Tom. What is it you needed assistance with?’’ Patryck reaches out a hand, just as Tom is turning.

 

‘’Cold feet.’’ He blurts out, hand holding his other arm. ‘’Tord isn’t exactly the best supporter.’’

 

‘’Well, I won’t speak for him, but you’re right. He’s sort of a dick.’’ He moves from the couch, standing in front of Tom. ‘’I got nervous my first day working for him, he treated me no better than you. But you’ll never know you can do it if you don’t do it.’’ 

 

‘’I have to do it, Patryck.’’

 

‘’Horrible comparison. Any screw up or stutter people will find charming! You’re marketed as a 

‘Bad boy’ who has his moments. Play off of it, Tom!’’

 

‘’I guess you’re right.’’ Tom lifts his chin up, ‘’I’ve got this.’’ 

 

‘’Good. Go get on your outfit and strut your stuff!’’ Patryck turns Tom by the shoulders a 180, shoving towards folded clothes on a chair. 

 

Maybe he could do it.


	4. Showtime!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord and Tom begin their interview on 'Allen'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank @romano_egg_biscuits for the tremendous feed back! Thanks to them, I got really motivated to finish up my homework when I wasn't feeling too swell.  
> Each person who contributes a positive affect will be noted here, such as @Bhero! They also made me smile, and I'm so grateful both commented. Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Uh it's a little short, so sorry.

''Are you over yourself?'' Tord adjusts his collar shirt, poking an index finger in. He is clad in prussian blue paired with a striking cherry tie.  
''Through no help of yours.'' Tom scoffs, crossing his arms. He wears his advertising outfit, the navy blue collar shirt with a checkered circle, black vest and black pants. If anything, he looked futuristic. Hovering, Paul and Patryck, stand further apart than typical. They would be in the right wing, looking out upon the side lines. ''Patryck is the opposite to your frigid soul.''</p>

''Whoa, let's not start any fights!'' Patryck raises his palms, facing upward. ''Focus on the interview- you're going to do great Tom!''

''I'm destroying it.'' Tom self-affirms, stopping himself from fist pumping. Sure, the interview would be stressful but people love him, right? He's 'sensitive bad boy' who suddenly can see. Although, some of the people with disabilities may despise him or Tord. The fact that this technology is too expensive to produce at an average rate stops them from trying. Those poor people, with ability just within their reach, silenced by social status. That seems to be how the world works. Money makes the world go round'.  
''Show time, Tom. Don't piss yourself.'' Tord picks lint off of his suit. Tom realizes Tord has a dry humor, but can never catch onto whether he's joking or churlish. Knowing him, it's the latter.  
Reliably enough, there stood the host, right on stage. Loads of people are waiting. What looks to be Tords hand patting his shoulder, then drags him on stage with a faint pull. lights blind him, and he follows the familiar figure. The audience roars with applause, sending a shiver up Toms spine. Walking out into the open, eyes glazing over the audience. Tord is in front of him, waving like he's royalty. Tom takes a seat, his face is still searching the audience. His heart drops, spotting someone unexpected. He can feel a pang of anxiety crush his chest. Tord flashes an irritated glance, before following Toms gaze at the man in the green-hoodie. All confidence diminishes. Tom shrinks back from the stare Edd shoots.  
''Mr. Olsen, Thomas!'' Allen steeples his hands, tilting them out. ''Might I say- it's surreal having you two here! A famous inventor, the man you saved.''  
Saved? Far from it. Tom scoffs inwardly. To some regard, yes it was kind.  
''Oh, I merely just helped someone in need.'' Tord replies, a soft smile appearing. He spoke modestly, which is unusual. ''I want to change the world.''  
What a crock of shit, Tom thinks. He is in no way helpless, and didn't ask for Tords help in the first place. It was like, all of a sudden he became a figurine to show off all of the assholes accomplishments. An accessory. Now, Tom shows up on this popular TV show, and has not spoken to Edd or Matt for days. They are going to be pissed. His urge to make a snarky remark is repressed, and he sighs.  
''And you, Tom. How has your life changed? Surely dramatically after this miracle.'  
''It's the same as normal, except with sight. I'm glad to see, and not be treated like an incompetent person.'' Tom has to resist the urge to say something about 'shitty, because I'm stuck in a contract with an asshole and now I have to model with anxiety and deal with friendships combined with popularity.' Alas, he conceals himself. ''As you all know, I'm the front page on the magazine published today, about my appearance. Modelling certainly is something!'  
Yeah, certainly is trash.  
''You are striking, indeed.'' Allen nods, ''This may get a little personal- tell us about your life. Were you born blind?''  
Tom freezes, glancing over his shoulder to the audience. A bead of sweat falls down his face, pursing his lips. His entire life story, including cancer? Tord did say they'd ask and prod into personal topics...  
''Ins't that moving a little fast there, buddy?'' Tom jokes, giving a lackluster smile. ''Lil' overwhelming.'' Maybe if he played on the sensitive side he's shown as, that'd at least help. Tord swoops into save him, speaking.  
''We knew each other in high school, never talked though.'' Something about Tords face shines in the spot light, his right eye twinkles, or rather 'glistens'. It sends a sense of malaise over him, but disregards it. He needs to focus on the now. He'd ask later. Tord continues, gesturing with his hands, '' I'd see him across the cafeteria, chatting with his friend who wears a signature green hoodie.'  
Tom gives a 'don't you dare' stare, and would ya know? Tod delievers a gleam of deviltry  
Tord dares.  
''In fact, he's here right now, to cheer on his bestie.'' Tord points to the audience, to Edd. of course he wears his green hoodie. One of the spot lights directs onto the boy, and Tom frowns. He knows Edd has severe stage fright. His friend stands erect, alert. Edd bites his nails, glancing left and right.  
''Truly, a wonderful friend.'' Allen nods, and the spotlight is taken off Edd. ''What coincidence you two meet up again!'' Allen places a hand on his cheek.  
''I found Tom on the promenade, while spending time by myself. It's fate.''  
Fate is fake. Just a bunch of nonsense.  
''Now Tom- you're rocking your designer clothes! Will those be your signature attire?''  
''I'll wear this outfit to multiple places. A man needs one suit for occasions, though.'' Ugh. Tom just quoted Tord, and that made him sick. Tom misses his blue hoodie and casual jeans, and the idea of hearing everything instead of seeing. A regular life with Edd, partaking in their shenanigans with Matt, who always has a mirror. Would this interfere with his social life? He'd be spending his time with Tord, in his house. He essentially wasn't trusted enough to manage himself in public, what with popularity and his intense distinction with tech on his face.  
''Can you stand and give us a twirl? It's a lot to ask, I know.''

Tom pauses, drumming fingers on his lap. If he refuses, everyone will mope. What if people hate him because of that, or Tord got angry? He's apprehensive, and knows this'll affect his performance. ''Ok.'' He grits his teeth, standing up. He spins himself around, staggering. As if automatic, Tord reacts by bolting up, steadying Toms shoulders as he pushes him back. Allen gasps with the audience, covering his mouth  
''That is the second time, Tom.'' Tord dusts off his hands, ''how are you so gauche?''  
He blinks, abashed. ''I can't help it... '' he mumbles, taking his seat. He wants to curl into himself, throw a cover over his head and hide.  
''The second time? Mr. Olsen, you're a god send!'' Allen chuckles, ''swift reactions.''  
''I try.'' Tord replies.  
''Tom, how do you think this new device will affect your life?''  
Tom refrains from drooping, shoulders back. He places his hands in his laps, hand over other. ''Being in public will be an issue. I may not be able to communicate in person with friends without attention.'' What would happen to going to the movies, or mall browsing? Even arcades.  
''Hear that ladies and gentleman?'' Allens gaze goes across the audience, ''Thomas may be popular, but he's a human too. Don't be impertinent.'' Tom appreciates Allens thought, an influential host directly telling his audience to go easy.  
The crowd gasps, empathetic faces spreading.  Tom risks a peer towards Tord, who allows a nod of approval. He upped his public opinion and potentially stops crowds.  
''Speaking of crowds- Mr. Olsen, you've got to be adjusted, correct?''  
''Yes, Allen. I can deal mannerly, the attention is nice.'' He scratches his nose, a stupid grin flashing. Tom doesn't know Tord well, but some part of him doubted he loves the attention. Call it gut instinct. This man hasn't always been poised or self-reliant. ''Tom will adapt.''  
'You said you knew each other in high school- what were you like?'' Allen cups his hands, maintaining eye contact between them.  
''As a teen, I was quiet.'' Tord replies, ''You'd find me developing something fun, say a remote-control pencil. I never was fastidious enough to let it write or draw, though.'' He chortles, ''that requires scrupulous detail, I always had homework.''  
''And you, Tom?'' Allen looks over, in the eyes. He's leaning in, so Tom decides to mimic.  
''Quiet too, I chat with friends and teachers. No one interacted, really. Besides when a dude bumped into me and apologized profusely.'' He recalls that moment and the second-hand embarrassment people must've witnessed after colliding with a blind man. He's just as competent as anyone else.  
''That seems to happen a lot, doesn't it?'' Allen speaks, ''haven't you ever smashed into a pole?''  
''Several times.'' Tom purses his lips, forking a hand through his hair. ''Very cringe inducing. I'm sure I appear on some I-tube video-'' Tom trails off, darkness dropping over the room. Lights flicker off, and people gasp. Tom snickers to himself, feeling the need to make a blindness joke. And you know what? Nothing is stopping him. In his resonant voice, he speaks. ''Guess who has night vision!''   
Instantly, the audience erupts into laughter. Tom grins to himself, listening to each noise. Once it dies down, he can locate where everyone on stage is. A low huff comes beside him. Definitely Tord.   
''Well, I suppose I don't need to add night vision.'' Tord mumbles to himself, ''I assume you're used to this, Thomas?''   
''This is what it's like, yeah.'' He agrees, ''not foreign at all.''   
The talk-show host yells, ''We're having technical issues! It began thundering outside, our crew is on it.''  
''I can look at it.'' Tord replies, reaching for his phone, clicking on his flash light. ''Take me up, if it's technical I'll fix it. Even if I do, thunder may take power out again.'' He points the light at Allens face, who nods. They leave, working to repair the ordeal. Edds voice calls out, a familiar code word.  
''Pineapple!''   
They knew it's stupid, but fun. He shouts back, allowing Edd to traverse. He knows Edd doesn't take his phone to talk-shows, because he hates being distracted.  
''Pineapple!'' he calls back for Edd.  
''Who the FUCK is yelling pineapple!'' A voice yells, Tom snickering. After stumbling, he can feel an arm grip onto Tom.  
''I made it!'' he exhales, ''Tom- so much has changed... ''  
''You're not infuriated I didn't contact you?'' Tom replies, eyebrows scrunching, though in a thoughtful manner. He really believed Edd would be pissed he said nothing, and so would Matt. ''Like I left you?''  
''We connected the pieces quick, and the interview cleared it up. It's a chance meeting, and you got swept up. It's ok, Tom.'' Edd assures, still gripping on Toms arm for bearing. ''Call me when you can, we'll face time or whatever, okay?''  
Ah, Edd really is the best. The lights flicker on, and exposes Edd, who released his grip frantically. Tom steps in front of the boy last minute, hiding him. He veers off stage to the right wing slowly until Paul assisted, pulling Edd backstage.  
''Careful.'' Paul sighs, ''you'll be back here with us for now. I'm sure Allen is okay with it.''  
''Speak of the devil!'' Patryck pipes up, pointing to Tord who tightened his tie, and Allen who walks along. They walk pass Edd, Tord giving him a small nod, Allen following suit. They join Tom on the stage, who returns to his chair.   
''The issue is solved, thanks to Mr.Olsen!'' Allen declares, ''we actually go off air now, so at least the black-out didn't happen mid show!'' He claps his hands together. ''I'll see you next time on Thursday!'' The audience gives applause.  Tord takes long strides off the stage with Tom, who mimics. Toms mind reels back to Tords glistening eye, staring at the others face with squinted eyes. Edd shifts, making way.  
''I guess I'll drive home now.'' he glances to the floor, ''Tom- remember to call me.'' Edd places a hand on his friends shoulder, who nods. Tord acts as if Edd is completely gone, already ahead of Tom with his quick pace. Tom runs to catch up with them, huffing. 


	5. Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A previous mistake comes to bite Tom & Tord in the ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lil while to come out but that's ok UvU. I was busy, and when I did have time it was adding on + revising. Oh yeah. I'm using 'Patryk' now instead of 'Patryck' oops

It’s hours after the interview, all is silent through the house. Paul is once again, hunched over piles of unfinished documents, as though it’s gold. Or in Paul's case, ‘fools gold’. Paper work appears to be a theme in Paul’s life. Perhaps he’s met to be a writer, or work in a cubicle. Nonetheless, he pursued. The pens’ scratching flow, and turning papers fill that void within the house. Since Tord  ‘helped’ him, Tom notices his hearing hasn’t been up to par. Instead, he relies on sight rather than intuition and sound. Frowning to himself, he sits down next to Patryk, who’s leaning his head on Paul’s shoulder. Without a word, he unhooks the glasses, placing them onto the table. He didn’t know where. Of course, it scuffles on the paper. 

‘’What are you doing?’’ Paul raises an eyebrow, straightening his back. He clicks the pen up and down, a steady rataplan.

Patryck tilts his head, remaining voiceless. 

‘’I’ve noticed my hearing is muddled.’’ He begins, crossing his arms, ‘’imagine losing your primary sense. It’s a handicap, I’ve another sense now.’’ 

‘’So you’re giving time to be in quiet and listen?’’ Patryk asks, eyes peering towards the glasses. ‘’That’s oddly mindful of you.’’

‘’It’s not mindful, I want amazing hearing back.’’ Tom scoffs. ‘’Don’t read into it.’’

‘’Ok, Tom.’’ Patryk gives a smile, pulling himself up. ‘’I don’t suppose you’ve a great nose?’’

‘’It’s not as honed.’’ Tom senses the movement, from the static friction of the couch, and feet sliding across the floor. ‘’Y’know, back when Edd and I were kids, we’d always play Marco Polo.’’ Tom follows Patryk voice, careful to not crash. ‘’He insisted it would help me navigate.’’ 

Sure, it helps. It was odd, though. In public they’d be yelling at each other or using inside voices. Nonetheless, ‘pineapple’ isn’t discreet. 

‘’Interesting.’’ Patryk moves in the kitchen, drawers creaking. There's a metallic clink of a knife, and the buzz of an opened refrigerator. ‘’You two are the ones to yelled ‘pineapple’ ?’’ 

‘’Edd came up with that too. We figured it’d be more entertaining than ‘Marco Polo.’’  

Patryck is slicing, the blade against chopping board. 

‘’Open your mouth.’’ 

Tom knew where this was going, and is strangely ok. It felt ‘wholesome’ . Maybe due to the friendly banter, or Patryk’s parental attitude. With anyone else, this looks gross, suggestive even. ‘’You don’t have allergies, do you?’’ Patryk asks before continuing. 

‘’To Christmas.’’ He jokes, ‘’No. I’m fortunate.’’ Patryk nods, putting the vegetable to Toms lips, who ate it. 

A tomato.

‘’I’ll give you ingredients, try to guess what I’m cooking.’’ 

‘’Patryk, I’m no chef.’’ 

‘’It’s a simple dish.’’ he encourages, tap bursting with water into a pot. It’s placed onto a stove, where the heat knob is turned. ‘’Hold out your hand.’’

Tom obliges, feeling granulated pieces on his index. He licks his finger, gagging. 

‘’Pepper and salt.’’ he wipes his mouth, ‘’universal ingredients aren’t they?’’ 

‘’You’re right, Tom.’’ Patryk nods, ‘’they’re popular seasons in cooking. Salt adds taste to anything, and pepper a hit.’’ The water begins to boil underneath the pot, Patryk clicks his tongue. ‘’You don’t want to do some cutting, do you?’’

‘’That’s dangerous. Let’s do it.’’ Tom slips off the high chair, pulled by the fabric of his shirt towards the kitchen entrance. He’s tugged in front of Patryk, who is much taller. His right hand is guided to the handle, where Patryk adjusts Toms grip. 

‘’The key is to grip the base with your index and thumb. This allows control.’’ Patryk lends his hand over Tom’s, ‘’when holding the food, make a claw with your hand. Fingers should be tucked in.’’ he uses his other hand to help Tom, moving fingers out of the way. ‘’Make a down then slide motion.’’ Patryk demonstrates, allowing Tom to feel the motion. 

‘’I got it.’’ Tom confirms, hand reaching for the next tomato. 

‘’I won’t let you get hurt.’’ Patryk assures, ‘’go ahead.’’ 

Tom follows the previous orders, fingers in a claw. His thumb and index grip the base, coordinating a smooth cut. It’s soothing, like an easy yet satisfying motion. 

‘’I’m not even helping, you’re on point.’’ Patryk praises, guiding Tom's hand. Subtly, he was. It couldn't hurt though, right? It would increase Tom's confidence, and he could see that.

Tom repeats the motion, and he can’t help but feel a slight smile. The entire process is quick once you get the hang of it. A down motion, and slide. There is still an aura of caution, or impending doom. 

‘’Think you can go faster?’’ Patryk challenges. Tom grins,

‘’You underestimate me.’’

‘’Don’t get too cocky.’’ Patryk reminds, controlling the knife enough so as to protect Tom. He wouldn’t notice anyway, because Patryk’s grip on his hand isn’t firm. They all seem to go by in a matter of minutes. 

They finish the last tomato Tom setting the knife down. 

‘’I’ve got to add the pasta to the pot.’’ Patryk informs, moving away. 

‘’Oh, you’re making spaghetti?‘’

‘’I told you, it’s a simplistic dish.’’ he cracks the noodles into the pot, dusting off his hands. 

Tom lights up with an idea, chuckling to himself. ‘’I tried what you do, now you’re doing what I do.’’ His hand reaches to his neck, where a bandanna is. People who depended on sight never focussed on other senses, so this would be amusing. 

‘’You’re blind folding me.’’ Patryk shakes his head, ‘’Okay, alright.’’ Tom moves behind Patryk, tying the fabric over his eyes. ‘’Oh… my god.’’ 

‘’Good, try walking around.’’ Tom orders, twirling his finger. Despite being unable to see Patryk at the moment, he can already tell the man is fumbling. 

‘’Tom I’m going to smash into a wall.’’ 

‘’Builds character.’’ 

Patryk sighs, walking aimlessly. Within the first few seconds he crashes into the wall two times, hands out as if a zombie. ‘’This is strange.’’

‘’Just listen, Patryk.’’

‘’Ok, obi wan kenobi’’ He scoffs, ‘’it’s not that easy. You’re adapted.’’

Paul sneaks behind Patryk, finger to his lip. He's tiptoeing, arms bent and hanging. He knows Tom can hear him. In a hit, he clutches Patryks shoulders, eliciting a jump and screech. Although Tom couldn't see it, he's sure the act is comedic gold. He hears a loud yet muffled squeak, and Paul gives a hurt sound. 

''Don't slap me.'' He whines, ''It's a joke.''

''If you call scaring me while blindfolded _then_ deciding it's a smooth time to kiss someone a joke, you're wrong.'' Patryk protests, untying his blind-fold. Tom snickers, picturing the scene in his mind. 

 The sound of water boiling becomes intense, causing Patryk to scurry from Pauls side-hug. Removing the pot from heat, he spins off the warmth. Draining the pasta, he sighs in relief. ‘’Dinners ready. I think you should put on your glasses again, Tom.’’ Patryk suggests, ‘’Paul, can you pass them to him?’’

There's a faint shuffling, and the item placed on his face. The vision focuses, bringing light once again. Tom nearly loses balance, stabilizing himself. Light floods Tom’s vision, blinking away. In front of him, Paul is rubbing his cheek where a red palm is implanted. 

''You two are ridiculous.'' Tom puts his hands on his hips, leaning weight onto one leg. These two definitely love each other. There are an abundance of signs- how Patryk gleams at Paul, or Paul's frequent yet affectionate pranks. The most glaring one, though? Tom has caught both of them eyeing each others ass. He's made a game, actually. Each time he catches them Tom stacks up a later shot amount. What a great way to get drunk. ''You sort of deserved that one.''  Paul grumbles, slouching. 

''Who's turn is it to get on Tord's ass about eating?'' Patryck places plates in front of Patryck and Tom.

''He doesn't eat dinner?'’ He knew Tord hasn't consumed a lot all day, but he figured Tord would eat dinner. Who functions without it? You'd be curled in a ball later, suffering from hunger pangs. Having those inhibited your ability to move, let alone cook for yourself.

''Too busy.'' Paul shrugs Tom off, ''Paul and I are contractually obliged to make sure he's in good health. Shouldn't have saved his ass...'' he mumbles, pursing his lips.

''Paul, it was the right action and you know it.'' Patryk reprimands, taking the plate. ''It's my turn.''

Paul replies in a groan, exasperated.

''I want to see how this plays out.'' Tom rubs his hands together, ''it's probably like a parent demanding a whiny child eat.'' Seeing Tord argue about petty things seems like quality entertainment.

''That's what it feels like.'' Patryk carries the plate, Tom walking alongside. They approach the Study’s door. ''Sir, you've got to eat something.'' Patryk announces, knocking on the door. ''I recall coffee and cereal at the most consumed.''

''I'm ok Patryck, let me work.'' Tord calls out, his throat cracking in the course of yelling 'work'. ''I need to get this done.''

''And stay up all night again? You didn't get a wink last night.'' Patryk pleas. Around this house, Tord is notoriously known for one thing. Consuming ungodly amounts of black coffee.

Holy shit, Tom thinks. Tord went through the interview yesterday and all activities without showing one ounce of exhaustion. One would think he got 10 hours of sleep.

''Who goes sleeps and gets up at 4am? I rather not wake up tired.''

''Working class, sir! You're a busy man.''

''I'm not working class AND schedule my appointments. I can clear schedule for all I care.''

''You'll be more tired if you stay up two nights straight.'' He reasons, sighing. There have been few times Tord accepts and takes a break. Even so, chances are slim to nothing. These self-destructive behaviours aren't anything new. On the good days when Tord isn't in his Study, he dozes off. Usually in the living room, on the couch where Paul and Patryk spend their time on paperwork. Patryk is a seasoned cook, it's a shame Tord can't see that.

''Later, Patryk. I'm working.''

Tom smirks to himself, reaching into the back pocket. There, a bobby pin resides in his palm. He shows it to Patryk, whose eyes widen. He's mouthing 'No, not a good idea'.

Tom scrunches his nose, making an over enthusiastic expression with his mouth too. Much like one people would use sarcastically, or jokingly. In Tom's case, more serious than others. Getting to spite Tord? He'd sign up for that any day. He crouches down, eyeing the lock first. Patryk has since given up. He works his way through, meticulous. A satisfying click sounds, and he opens the door. Inside, Tord is fiddling with some gadget on his desk. His gaze bolts up, and eyebrows raise. Tord fumbles, concealing the gadget he has been fiddling with. Similar to a kids fear when a parent walks in on them watching porn. Or worse, hentai. His face contorts to that of dismay, launching himself up.

''I hope you know that's the last time you can pick lock me. I'm constructing some crazy thing so you two buffoons don't interrupt.'' he waves his hands in the air. ''Fine, Patryk. I'll eat.'' he groans, dragging his feet to the door. Not before locking a drawer, though.

He turns to the phonograph, stopping the disc.

''You're this billionaire who invents tech for a living, and you use a PHONOGRAPH?'' Tom exclaims, pacing the room. ''Playing Moonlight Sonata. I can't believe this.'' 

Tord doesn't show a hint of anger, turning his body to the two. ''Classical music on a phonograph has something to it.'' he shrugs, wiping dust off the disc. ''found it in my deceased parents house.'' 

Ok, the cheerful aura is gone. Tom stops in his tracks, and Patryk purses his lips, glancing away. He goes to exit the room, Tord who follows after a ruffled Tom. That wasn't the type of 'extreme' reaction Tom was hoping for, not that it's realistic. At least he got to spite Tord. You don't just drop the 'dead parents' bomb. Tord is what, 21? around Toms age. They enter the kitchen.

''Did you get the caveman ou-'' he turns, nearly falling out of the high-chair. ''I don't know how you do it, Patryk.'' Paul facepalms his forehead, huffing.

''I didn't, Tom did. He picked the lock.''

''Out of spite. I don't care about Tord.'' Tom clarifies, crossing his arms. He claims his plate, taking his seat on the couch. If he was going to treat Tom like shit, it will be reciprocal. No one but Tom can insult himself.

Tord takes his plate from Patryk, sitting beside Tom. ''What happened to your face, Paul?'' Tord questions, scrunching his eyebrows. ''I scared Tom and he hit me.'' Paul lies through his teeth, as though naturally. ''Good on Tom.'' He turns his head, biting his lower lip. ''He's got quite the hand.'' Patryk nearly spits his food, covering his mouth. Tord indirectly complimented him for being a great slapper, and it's no surprise. Both of them know martial arts. The fact Tord brushes off a random injury is also concerning, yet no one else pays it mind. 

Tom recollects the day Tord’s company took flight. It began as a joke, the 'wiper glasses'. The name is self explanatory. They were glasses he brought to their high school science fair that had mini-windshield wipers. Everyone rioted, and encouraged him to invent more crazy things. At 19, his company took off. No news of his private life has ever been released. He is the youngest entrepreneur, and is widely known as a prodigy. His heads peers towards Tord, who cuts steak. His movements come in jumbles, as if from an ice dispenser. 

''Who are you staring at?'' Tord flashes a side glance, chewing. 

''You, idiot.'' Tom refutes, ''you're the one who has full eyesight his whole life.'' 

Tord looks like he wants to make a quip, opening his mouth. '’It's a phrase, Tom.'' 

Tom grumbles, shoving a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. From his peripheral he can see Tord's head lolling, each blink prolonged. Seeing him like this is odd. A vulnerable state hidden away. 

‘’I’m putting on News.’’ Paul announces, switching on the TV.

On the TV, shows a female reporter in front of a mob. 

''Local Edd, friends with new Model Thomas has been attacked by fans at Central Park. People speculate it's because of jealousy, or famous by association when Mr. Tord Olsen pointed out their relation on 'Allen' show.'' The camera pans to a crowd, Edd nearly covered.

Tom's face contorts in disgust, setting his plate on the table, movements of apprehension. There is a quiet moment that befell every one, the dread setting in. 

''Oh... shit.'' Patryk sputters, twisting to place his food elsewhere. In a flash, he gets up. His heart pounds, and his legs can't support. It's as if his brain isn't giving orders, forcing himself to move regardless. Paul and Patryk rush behind him, shoes sliding on. Tord is the last to move, stooping up to help. Tom whips his head back, pure, unadulterated fury in his eyes, nose crunched. 

''Don't, prick.'' 

Tord freezes, movement ceasing. 

They're out the door. Tom decides the elevator takes too long, so his eyes land on the railing. Why go down the stairs when you can take the high road? He sits, legs on one side. He slides, twirling to his descent. Running down beside him, Patryk and Paul. The rail ends, Tom sliding across the floor. He gains his bearing, adrenaline coursing through veins. 

''There, my car is there.'' Paul points at the clear glass doors, a red vehicle parked in front. He unlocks it from his keys. Thankfully, the exit opens automatically, allowing easy escape. They’re in the car right away. None bother with seat belts, revving off. Patryk is in the back, a hand on Toms shoulder.

‘’He’ll be ok. We’ll get there.’’ Patryk soothes. 

‘’Why the fuck did Tord announce that?’’ Tom hisses to himself. He specifically shot a look of  ‘don’t’

And Tord did. Now Edd is suffering because of HIS mistake.

‘’Tord can get an earful when we get back. Let’s focus on Edd now, Tom.’’ 

‘’You’re right.’’ Tom’s leg jitters as though it’s a jet, fingers drumming. He can’t do much to stop his hyperventilation, other than stare holes into his jeans. 

‘’Tom, regulate your breathing.’’  Patryck speaks, moving an arm to hook around Tom’s back, ‘’Paul and I are professional crowd-controllers.’’ It’s true. They couldn’t name the many times Tord has been trampled by raving fans. It’s never been easy, though. Separating the mob is the hardest part. ‘’The park isn’t far away. See? It’s in sight.’’

‘’Police are there.’’ Tom replies, focusing his breath. There is red and blue flashing, and Police are separating the group successfully. They pull up, Edd in sight. The crowd is gone, and parted by barriers. As Tom steps out, Paul pushes him in. 

‘’Go out there and you’ll be the one crowded.’’ 

‘’Yeah, we’ll take care of this, Tom.’’ Patryck assures. He sets a hand on Tom’s shoulder, shutting the car door. 

They’re right, he isn’t suited for this situation. Going to help entails more trouble. So, he sits here like a rock. Paul consults Police, while Patryck chats with Edd. The three finish their work from his view, and enter the car.

‘’Edd, Edd.’’ Tom leans over as Edd slides in, a prominent bruise on his cheek. ‘’What happened, are you ok?’’ he lifts a hand to cup Edd’s cheek, who brushes him away. 

‘’A jealous fan.’’ he leans on Toms shoulder, shutting his eyes. ‘’The price of fame by association.’’ He cackles, air in his breath. 

‘’We’ll get you fixed up.’’ Patryck butts in, Paul turning keys in their slot. ‘’You’’ be staying with us until we figure a plan.’’

‘’Boss’s choice’’, Pat.’’ Paul eyes the road, glancing over his shoulder before a left turn. 

‘’This is Boss’s fault, Paul. He’s obliged to help.’’ 

‘’You forget he’s an asshole, Patryck.’’ 

Tom sighs, brushing bangs out of Edds’ face. 

His injuries could have been worse.


	6. Cannon in D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord shows off his amazing skills and Tom is VERY confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry theres literally no filler. Rambling on about someone's emotions I've already established just isn't appealing, and I can't have introspection after each dialogue. So. Enjoy this. By the way, I've placed two references in this chapter. Try to catch em', and I'll leave what I referenced in the end note.

‘’I won’t lie, you look bad.’’ Tom sits at the kitchen counter, two boys on the stool. The whole ordeal left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. Specifically Edd’s, who has blood. Most know blood tastes of iron due to unforeseen injuries being stuck into your mouth. In addition to that thought, why do humans instinctively suck on wounds? The world will never know. Internet may have answers, though. He’d look that up later. Patryk hands Edd an ice pack, leaning on the counter. Tom huffs, inwardly cringing at jealous raving fans that caused Edds most striking wound, a bruised cheek and cut lip.

'’If Boss was here he’d be complimenting the person's hand.’’ Paul comments, standing behind the counter, a grin plastering his face.

‘’Your sass is legendary, Paul.’’ Patryk snickers in return, remembering the scenario. Paul had snuck up on him, grasped his shoulders and whipped his body a full 180 before placing a kiss smack on the lips. It was a shocking situation, especially when you cannot see. Tord had asked about his wound, and Tom took the fall for slapping Paul. Tom giggles, Edd glances between the three, scratching his head.

‘’Inside joke?’’

‘’You could say that.’’ Tom dabs peroxide onto Edds lip, who flinches away. 

''Stay still.'' Tom orders, eyeing down Edds lip. After that, he moves to his cheek. It's purple and swollen, yet he cannot describe the utter heat churning in his stomach and the urge to hurt anyone who did this to Edd. All Edd's life he's been stepped on like a doormat, mistreated by those in school and now those in public jealous of his association. What a world.

‘’Boss locked himself in his Study again.’’ Patryk begins, staring down the hallway. ‘’He has probably devised some contraption to keep Tom from lock picking.’’

‘’I’m not concerned about him.’’ Tom scoffs. ‘’I’m sure if I yell it won't change him. He has no remorse.’’ There have been several times Tord shows no sign of care. Straight faced when Tom told him off just minutes ago, or when he went against his advice on Allen.

‘’Has Tord changed that much?’’ Edd glances at his feet. ‘’He was kinder in school. I’ve seen him stand up for kids.’’

‘’People change, Edd.’’ Tom replies, placing the cotton with peroxide on the counter.

‘’I can see standing up for kids.’’ Patryk replies. He exchanges glances with Paul, who shares a past experience with Tord being kind.

‘’Of course, we can’t elaborate.’’

‘’I could care less.’’ Tom says, crossing his arms.

Tord enters, stretching his arms. He’s dressed in a maroon hoodie and loose, black jogging pants.

‘’There's our poor victim.’’ His eyes travel towards Edd, who shivers. ‘’Must’ve been hard.’’ Tord holds hands behind his back by the wrist, stiff posture as per usual.

‘’Empty empathy.’’ Tom scoffs, turning his body to Tord. This man only wants to manipulate people to believe he’s a good person, someone capable of sincerity. Although, it’s difficult to differentiate between mocking and honesty when it comes to him. ‘’And he’s coming out of his cage!’’

‘’And I’ve been doing just fine.’’ Tord picks lint off of his sweater, striding behind the kitchen counter. He drums his fingers, humming a tune.

‘’Why did you come out anyway, Tord?’’ Tom asks, crossing his arms. He rarely came out for no reason, so he must want something out of them. That man is essentially a hermit, never going out of his shell while home.

‘’Apologize.’’ He clears his throat, twiddles with his hoodie drawstring. ‘’Not my smartest move, and Edd got hurt. So sorry.’’

Everyone is silent, faces wide. An apology from Tord is rare. To admit his mistakes and leave his ego behind really met something.

‘’Did he just apologize?’’ Patryk looks to Paul, who nods stiffly.

‘’Fake.’’ Tom comments, scrunching his nose. ‘’Manipulative, what do we have to believe him?’’ Tom plays the devil's advocate, stating that the man can't be trusted. There have been various examples of why, those of which he's too exhausted to explain. 

‘’For one-’’ Edd begins,cut off as Tord speaks.

‘’Paul, I don’t feel so good.’’ he stutter steps, exhaling. He fumbles backwards, losing footing. He falls into Pauls chest, who steadies the boy. His head is pounding, and his balance is off-kilter. He's seeing double, which definitely isn't good. 

‘’Dehydration again.’’ Patryk raises an eyebrow, hand on his hip. He spins to the sink, filling a cup from the cupboard with water.

‘’Looks fine to me’’ Tom says sarcastically, crossing his legs. Edd only gasps.

‘Again? How many times has this happened?’’

‘’Too many.’’ Paul hooks his arms underneath Tord’s armpits, dragging him to the couch. He’s set there, head propped against a pillow. Patryck hands the glass to Tord, who is thankfully conscious. ‘’Sometimes we feel like caretakers rather than body guards.’’

‘’I didn’t ask you to coddle me.’’ Tord refutes.

‘’You did, though. We’re literally your body guards whether it be from people or yourself.’’ Patryk clarifies, kneeling down in front of the couch. ‘’It’s astounding how you have no physical self regard.’’

Tord pauses, looking at the liquid inside. He stares into the reflection.

‘’Drink the damn water.’’ Paul demands, tapping his foot.

‘’You don’t order me-’’

‘’Fucking drink it, Tord.’’ He spits, referring to him by first-name. ‘’Let go you egotist.’’ Pauls voice hasn’t raised, but intensity has added to the firmness. Tord has his lips to the transparent object, gulping. He props himself up, against the back of the couch. He is quite ashamed for such a vulnerable act, only to collapse the next moment.

From the sidelines, Edd tightens his lips. ‘’You didn’t call.’’

‘’You’re right.’’ Tom replies. ‘’The moment I saw you on the news I came fast as I could. I wanted to come out, but that’s ill-advised… ‘’

‘’The fact you rushed out is nice, Tom.’’ Edd replies, ‘’don’t worry about me.’’ He gives this smile, with no explanation. It’s just pure, earnest.

‘’Good god, Tord. You’ve a high fever.’’ Patyrk removes his hand from Tords forehead, walking to the sink. He takes a cloth and runs the tap, testing the cool, lukewarm water. ‘’Honestly… ‘’ Patryk shakes his head, exasperated. He travels back to Tord, where he lays the rag on the forehead. Tord audibly huffs.

‘’You know violin, right Tord?’’ Edd speaks, head tilting.

‘’What about my violin?’’ He remarks, crossing his arms. In his teens he paid for violin lessons, and has stayed inside the music room multiple times to play. Whether fortunate or unfortunately, everyone hears it.

‘’Would you mind playing for us? I mean, once you’re okay.’’ Edd taps his fingers together. Tords’ playing is gorgeous, and smooth. He’s walked in on Tord playing, to which there was always an awkward silence followed by Tord frozen.

‘’I, uh… ‘’ 

‘’Don’t feel pressured!’’ Edd waves his hands, biting his lower lip. The last thing he wants is to make Tord uncomfortable.

‘’Alright.’’ He tightens his lips, ‘’I see no big deal playing now.’’

‘’Boss, that’s not a good idea-.’’

‘’I don’t recall asking your opinion, Paul.’’ Tord chastises, eyes narrowed. He can be mild-mannered one moment and vicious the moment. This shuts Paul up, and prevents anymore comments. Patryk is off retrieving the instrument.

‘’So that’s who I heard.’’ Tom rubs his chin, a thought donning on him. He had enjoyed Tords’ music, the man who he detests now. He’d purposely sit outside the music room, against the wall. He takes a small step backwards, index across his lip whilst the other fingers followed. Embarrassing. The fact that Tom openly let himself relax to such a man- though he might've not been that way in his teens. Patryk returns with the fragile object, bow in hand. He passes it to Tord, who clears his throat and lifts himself. He raises the violin to his neck, straightening his shoulders. The bow begins to move, emitting a pleasing sound. At first, it’s a low, quiet tune that resonates and occasionally ups a few octaves. He starts to crescendo, building to the chorus. This is when Tom begins to recognize the tune. The piece is named ''Pachelbel In Canon D.'' It's notoriously known to be soothing, and help decrease stress and anxiety scientifically proven. Therefore, it is awesome. This piece is what Tord often plays at lunch, and one of Tom’s favourite pieces as well, second to moonlight sonata. Tord looks into it, easing into a swing.Paul catches himself leaning on Patryks shoulder, bolting away. Edds eyes however, are shut. Tom leans in to whisper.

‘’What were you saying earlier?’’ Tord had cut his friend off in a bout of illness. As he recalls, Edd was about to provide evidence as to why Tord could be a 'good person'. What defines a 'good person' anyways? Someone who is tolerant and kind to all? Or perhaps selfless. That's something he'd need to contemplate later. 

‘’Tord has stood up for me, when I was bullied.’’ He whispers back, eyes still closed. At the time, people didn't necessarily love Edd. He never did anything wrong. Never embarrassed himself, always lended a hand and is generous to all. Yet, people still hate him. 

Tom is silent, eyes directed towards the swaying man. Had he really been a decent person? Then why like this? It’s beginning to look like every attempt at hate is thwarted. He’s…. Ambivalent, to say the least. Tords playing comes to a steady halt, lowering his violin and bow. He coughs, sitting back down. He picks up the glass again, refreshing himself.

‘’Beautiful.’’ Patryk assures Tord, smiling.

‘’Tom can play Bass!’’ Edd pipes up, ‘’maybe one day he can show off-.’’

‘’No, Edd.’’ Tom shakes his head, ‘’I’m good.’’

Edd only frowns, checking time. ‘’It’s 7:00 pm, I better leave. Matt is probably worried.’’

‘’The Matt?’’ Tord stops, enunciating his words, ‘’Matt Hargreaves? The popular make-up artist and fashion designer?’’ The boy had risen to fame ever since his first branding of clothes released. In a stroke of luck, people went crazy. He appeared in fashion magazines, has been on several interviews and is a trend-setter. 

‘’Yeah… that’s Matt.’’ Edd raises an eyebrow, ‘’What’s the big deal?’’ Matt has been his best friend for so long, that the popularity fact doesn't phase him anymore. Matt is just some person in the world who is widely looked up to by an abundance of people.

Tord has his hands on his head, ‘’Only the most iconic man? And you say ‘what’s the big deal’?’’

‘’He’s a human too, Tord.’’ Edd scrunches his eyebrows, ‘’sure, it’s really cool.’’ It’s true, he’s popular. But like any human, deserves to be treated normally. ‘’I can set up an appointment-.’’ He offers, knowing Tord would very much appreciate it. Plus, how else could he pay Tord back for the several times he saved his ass? 

Tord steps forward, hands on Edds shoulders. The chance to meet his very idol- even be associated with him? What a dream come true. May Matt even looked up to him? That's a far cry, but Tord wishes. What's wrong with that?

‘’You WILL set up an appointment.’’

Everyone jumps back, minus Edd who shrinks. The fury in Tord’s eyes are enough to elicit fear. When this man wants to be horrifying, he can. Despite his dull black eyes, Tord pulls off a menacing glare. 

‘’I had no clue you loved fashion so much.’’ Tom mocks, scoffing. ‘’Pretty boy.’’ Tord always seems to care about his appearance, and who knows if he uses make-up. If so, wow. He never took Tord as one who likes fashion, let alone makeup. 

‘’Better than hideousness.’’ Tord shrugs him off, hands on his hips. ‘’Tomorrow, all of you are getting a makeover, fashion wise too.’’

Paul and Patryk expressions are priceless.

Toms face drops.

No fucking way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been two references in this chapter. Did you spot them? ''Mr.Stark, I don't feel so good.'' From Infinity War, and ''I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine.'' -Mr.Brightside, The Killers.  
> Hope ya had a good time!! Comments are always valued :').


	7. Do-Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom & the Gang go to Edds' to get makeovers. What can go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLAPS HANDS  
> HELLOOO I AM BACK.  
> School got crazy, so I began writing in small patches wherever I have time. Sorry for the long upload! This chapter is a little short, but the next will be A++. Uh, there MAY be miniscule homophobia pleasedontkillme  
> I started a large portion of this at 5pm-8pm. Began editing at 9pm-11:37pm. Have mercy on my soul I'm exhausted. 
> 
> Also, some big words. Here's a glossary:  
> *Cursory- A brief, unthorough skim.  
> *Loutish-uncouth and aggressive.  
> *Dissemble:conceal one's true motives, feelings, or beliefs.  
> *Surmount-overcome (a difficulty or obstacle).  
> *Castigated-reprimand (someone) severely.  
> *Jocular-fond of or characterized by joking;  
> humorous or playful.  
> *Gay-(of a person, especially a man) homosexual/lighthearted and carefree.
> 
> Yeah. So don't kill me.

****

There is a stark contrast between the rich and poor, and that is by default, house size or name-brand clothing. In this case, houses. 

‘’This is off-putting.'' Tord raises an eyebrow, staring up and down the moderately sized house. It's that of a middle class' property. Humble.    
''Welcome to working class.’’ Tom scoffs, shoving Tord sideways. The boy has always been privileged. Edd read Tom newspapers of Tords' families inventions, though not all world-changing. Gadgets they'd sell off to companies and such. Successful family, only child, genius, now CEO. He's a prodigy, but Tom doesn't need to stroke Tord's ego further. One would think he’s a megalomaniac.    
''Everyone's life is different, Tom.’’ Edd pats his shoulder, unlocking the door. Inside are dozens of frames hung upon the wall. Majority depict happy moments of the three- Tom, Edd and Matt. Despite those, the inside is bare. What remains is a singular couch and a TV. Tom doesn't hesitate to throw himself onto the couch, smiling. Tord keeps to himself. Behind is Patryk, who coaxes him inside who looks as though he's a deer caught in headlights. He taps his index fingers together. To see a competent man shrink confounds all but Paul and Patryk. They're silent, however.    
''I'm home, Matt! We have visitors.'' Edd shouts, gesturing his guests to the couch. Before anyone can sit, Matt appears.    
''EDD!'' He tackles the brunet, cupping his face. ''Dear god I heard, '' A thumb brushes over the yellow-purplish mark.   
''Uh, hello.'' Tom waves his hand, ''just a friend you haven't seen for days.''    
''Oh, hey Tom,’' Matt brushes him off, ''I saw you on Allen, and the magazine plus the news- I had no reason to worry,''    
''Your used-to-be-blind friend appears after days, WITH SIGHT and you aren't bewildered?'' Tom gestures widely, eyebrows curling up.    
''Sure, but you're still Tom. I know you can handle yourself.’’ Matt makes an up-down gesture with his hand, twisting his body away from Edd. It's true. Matt has never seen Tom let himself be pushed around without reluctance, he always stands up for himself and calls bullshit on whatever he thinks is fallacy. For worse or better, it's a good trait. Edd however, is a new story. His kindness is mistaken for weakness, and this results in bullying for no good reason. Thank god Tord was around to stop it-   
Oh,   
Speaking of Tord.    
His gaze averts to the hunched over strawberry-blond, who instantly stiffens up.    
''You're the kid who helped Edd!'' He exclaims, gasping.    
''Wait, am I hearing correctly?'' Tom sticks a finger into his ear, face contorting. Everyone says Tord stood up for Edd- even Edd himself states so! Even then it's hard to believe.    
''Yes you are.’' Edd nods to Tom, whose glance lands on Tord. The man is practically mute. Patryk is nudging him and Paul looks disinterested.    
''Oh, you're that smart dude,’’' Matt snaps his fingers, ''CEO right? Cool! Cat got your tongue?'' Matt claps his hands together, stepping over to Tord. He can't unravel why someone so confident is silent, yet waits for a  peep.    
'’Olsen Tord the names.’' He spurts, slapping a hand over his mouth, red tinting his cheeks. Tord takes a step backwards, bumping into Patryk. Paul is coughing harshly, and from what he can tell Patryk is wheezing inwardly. ''Nice to meet you,'' His tell-tale heart is pounding within his chest. He cluster-fucked his sentence in front of an IDOL. Now he's a shivering buffoon. His body can't operate as typically, he has never experienced such intense emotion in years- particularly fear. Or anxiety.    
''He's lost it!'' Tom is falling off the couch, clutching his chest, ''I can't breathe OH MY goD,’' His sentence trails off into a hoarse tone,''The cocky prick is a MESS!''    
''Tom, '' Edd hovers over, tapping his shoulder. “Remember your social anxiety? It’s ok to be like that.’’    
“Ugh, hypocrisy.’’ Tom rolls his eyes, stifling his snickers. Yeah, it’s reasonable Tord is like this, though he wants to revel in delight of his enemies tortue. It’s not often this occurs.    
“Why don’t you explain why you’re here?’’ Patryk whispers to him, pushing his head towards Tords’ ear. He repels away.    
“Makeup-’’ He cuts off, clearing his throat, “Edd said you might do a makeover appointment for us?’’    
“How else do I pay you back?’’ Matt shrugs to himself, “Do your men want one?’’    
“Yes, yes they do,’’ Tord interrupts Pauls refute. Patryk doesn’t move to stop Tord, “As much as I love your work, I like to leave my face to myself. Them however… “ Tord twists to direct at the two men.   
“Wait, you aren’t getting one but we are?’’ Paul crosses his arms, “Unfair.’’   
“So is life,’’ Tord replies, “You can’t miss out.”   
“And YOU, a fan can?” Paul refutes.    
“I’m sure Patryk will accept the offer.’’ Tord nods to himself. He knows the boy enjoys foundation and such, having seen it on his face. Never anything nuanced though.   
“Mmmm,” Matt steps towards forward, aiming for the bushier man with a scar over his eye. “Your scar adds ruggedness, unlike my own complexion,’’ he observes, finger to his chin, “I bet we can tame those fierce brows.’’    
Paul lifts a hand to his brows, batting them with scrunched eyes. ''I'm not a girl.''    
''Tsk tsk, toxic masculinity,’' Matt shakes his head, side stepping to Patryk. ''You've soft features, a nice tanned complexion too.''    
“Thank you.’’ Paul smiles, running a hand over his cheek. “I moisturize, unlike some people,’’ He elbows Paul, jocular.   
“And you, Tord,’’ Matt steps back to meet the man, who jumps back.    
“Personal space! Don’t get up in my face,’’ Tord chides. Matt’s eyes cursory over Tords’ face, expression contorting. “Sharp, defined features. You’ve got a nice jawline,’’ Nothing else is said, and he steps back, “Follow me then,’’ he turns around, facing the next room to the right.    
“Mind if I stick here with Tom?’’ Edd asks, to Matt who shrugs.ltering the boy of new people.“Sure.’’    
“Who said I’m staying here? I want to see Paul and Patryk with makeup.’’ He said, bolting up. “Especially Paul.’’   
"I'll look as though it never happened,’’' Paul mumbles, ''I'm not letting him make me look feminine.''   
They enter the room, a makeup studio mirror, lights and chair decorate the room. It's reminiscent of a movie stars' cliched mirror. It's filled with desks and drawers, presumably filled with equipment. Other than those details, it's quaint.   
"Who first?'' Matt rubs his hands together. He tugs the padded chair out, eyes skimming over Paul and Patryk. They're accompanied by Tom and Tord.   
''I will,’' Patryk raises his hand, sitting down onto the seat, ''What first?''   
''Well, you have an Olive complexion, a slightly green undertone,'' His hands hover in front of Pauls' face, moving, ''I'm thinking berry hues, a burnt orange faded with a red ochre and subtle venetian red. It'll bring out your brown eyes.''    
''Do as you will,'' Patryk surrenders, palms up.    
''Alright,'' Matt mutters, opening a small drawer which conceal various eyeshadows pallets. A brush is dusted in, ''Raise your brows, It'll flatten your eyes.'’ He moves in front of Patryk, focussing within the half of the eyes lid.   
''You adore Matt, but eschew a makeover.'' Tom raises an eyebrow. Tord is within his peripherals, crossed arms. Odd behaviour indeed, but it's not like he'd care enough to prod. He can't imagine the commonly kempt man denying an opportunity.  Tord is essentially a stew pot of hate and vituperation.   
''I have sensitive skin, seeing him is enough.” Tord leans against the wall. ''I want Paul to get his eyebrows trimmed, really. When are you not loutish?'' The two hedges upon Pauls forehead never fails to draw attention, definitely not nondescript. Especially his eye scar.    
''Whatever you say, I find them endearing.''   
''My eyebrows AREN'T endearing.'’ Paul spits, biting his lower lip. He can't be bothered to tend to them everyday, not to mention even if he did, they'd grow back quick. Regardless, Patryk likes them. That's the important factor.   
''You've nice droopy eyes. Makes you appear inviting and warm,'' Matt compliments, touching up edges, ''I didn't go extreme, it's subtle. No bold contour nor blush.'' He spins Patryk around on the chair, revealing the do-over. Tom swears he saw Paul double take, hand covering his mouth. Tord seems to notice this as well, because he raises a singular brow yet speaks nothing. Patryk frowns at the lack of reception, yet knows Paul appreciates him.    
''What do you think... ?''    
''You can out-beauty Tord anytime, that's saying something.’' Tord clicks his tongue. He's not sure if that sentence registered as an insult or compliment, yet would probably come back to bite him soon. As much as Tom hates to confess, Tord looks gorgeous. It's shocking how amazing he is with makeup. But what's under?   
''Are you saying I'm so handsome it's hard to surmount, yet Patryk does?'' Tord grins. ''The dude who hates me thinks I'm handsome! What, are you gay?''   
Everyone stops, silence drops within the room. Not a word is spoken, and all eyes land on Tord. The air is thick, direful and he's preparing himself to be castigated. Tord knows he has stepped out of line, and those four words will entertain his demise. Paul and Patryk flinch, pursing their lips. The first to acknowledge Tord's grave mistake is Edd.   
''Uh, not cool... '' He taps index fingers together. ''I mean- opinions, but-'' 

“... Yes.” Tom replies, “I’m sure I’m FUCKING HAPPY.”

Paul and Patryk appear to have a sense of humor, because they cachinnate so hard they’re wheezing, supporting themselves upon whatever they may reach. 

“No, no!” Matt cries out, inwardly cringing, “He doesn’t mean it like that.’’

“So? Let him wallow in his opinions. He’s no less of a shit bag then I believed before.’’

Tord is quiet. Usually he’d have some clever quip to add in, yet nothing is spoken. Paul wipes a tear of laughter away from his eye, and Patryk clutches his chest. 

“I suppose it’s my turn.’’ He pulls himself onto the chair where Patryk left, taking deep breaths. Matt clears his throat.

“How about we use your brows to our advantage? Keep the thickness, give them shape. You don’t need a lot.”

“Don’t ruin them.’’ Paul warns, voice lowering. Matt doesn’t flinch, and instead reveals tweezers.

‘’You’re going to sneeze, and this will hurt,’’ Matt focuses in to Pauls face, narrowing his eyes. These brows would be hard to navigate, much less figure out. Oh well. He follows the outlines, plucking unnecessary hairs. Paul reels back. An obnoxious noise erupts, sending his head forward. Matt ducks away, whimpering. “I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Sorry.’’ Paul brings his head up, eyes averting. 

“Almost ruined my perfect face…” Matt tears, though grateful. “The show must go on.”

No one else speaks, and tension is gone. Matt is working his way through Pauls’ eyebrows, thankfully succeeding.They’re defined by a mascara brush and eyeliner pencil.

‘’You’re sure it’s not too feminine?’’

“You look like a QUEEN. Don’t worry about others.” He’s turned as Pat was earlier, facing his peers. Pat gasps, grinning. Much more inconspicuous than Paul’s reaction. Tord nods to himself, as if having expected this outcome. 

“It strangely suits you,” Tom scrunches his eyebrows. 

“They’re too outlined, plus they’ll have this shape for a while-”

“Hush, you look handsome.” Tord cuts him off, tightening his lips. “Good work Matt.”   
“Wow, Tord is being nice!” Tom makes a large gesture. What a rarity, and it’s sad that it is so. He looks out for himself and only himself. Why did he give Tom these stupid high-tech glasses anyways? Probably because of his god-complex or of the sort. 

“It’s getting late,’’ Edd says, tapping his watch, “You better go home. Tord, when will Tom be living with us?’’ Edd really did miss Tom around the house. Snide comments or teasing added spark, even if he can be an ass or hates christmas. They weren’t complete. 

Tords’ face drops, turning his back to Edd, dissembling him casually.

‘You’re right, we should leave. I’m exhausted anyway. Goodnight.’’ He exits the room posthaste. Stuck behind are Paul and Patryk apologizing for Tord’s behaviour and thanking him for the appointment. Tom and Edd exchange glances, each equally as crestfallen. Toms hand leads to his arm across his body, glancing down. Without another word he follows Tords’ tracks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Hate Tord, he's supposed to be repulsive. Yeah. He was a lil homophobic. TRUST ME, READERS. I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, please! Critique is so, so valuable to an aspiring writer such as myself. Thank you!


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